


if nothing else, the cuddle is nice

by poetic_nonsense



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale understands and shares your problems with media, Crowley is a good provider of cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Post-Apocalypse, and sometimes you turn the light off for five minutes, and then turn it on again and write a Good Omens ficlet about it, but this fic is for anyone who has been let down by a piece of media they love, it's pretty light though, look sometimes when a series disappoints you you go to bed on time, yes I am talking about Father Brown season 4 episodes 6 through 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 01:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21312073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense
Summary: It wasn’t unusual for Aziraphale to wander over between eleven and one in the night, and pause at the foot of the couch where one of Crowley’s legs hung off.  When Crowley blinked back to Earth and lifted his head to look up at Aziraphale, though, and found him shifting in place, chin tucked down against his chest, the energy hit him in the face and he scrambled upright on the couch, limbs flailing as the comfortable spot he’d managed to coax out with careful squirming tried to keep him there.  “Angel, hey, what’s wrong?”Aziraphale’s hands fluttered before clasping together in front of his belly, and his voice did something similar.  “I -- it’s silly, really, I’m sorry, but -- I’ve been a bit -- disappointed.  Would you mind if --?”“Not in the slightest, angel, come on.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 145





	if nothing else, the cuddle is nice

Crowley had been lying on the couch, pondering. He’d taken to parking himself there and pondering in the evenings, or playing on his mobile phone, until Aziraphale felt like finishing up for the evening and wandering over so that Crowley could tempt and cajole him upstairs to snuggle into bed together. Sometimes he didn’t feel like it at all, and that was fine. Crowley was perfectly content to drift in and out or trace shapes in the ceiling of the bookshop, with the quiet, comfortable sounds of a distracted angel puttering in and around the stacks or scratching away at some project at his desk or humming unconsciously from the armchair as he read. Then, of course, the rising sun would poke its rays into Aziraphale’s cozy little bubble of absorption, who would invariably come over to tell Crowley a sheepish “good morning,” and a perfectly hot cup of tea would appear in Crowley’s hand to offer him with a hum of agreement, and he’d receive a kiss for his trouble.

It wasn’t unusual for Aziraphale to wander over between eleven and one in the night, and pause at the foot of the couch where one of Crowley’s legs hung off. When Crowley blinked back to Earth and lifted his head to look up at Aziraphale, though, and found him shifting in place, chin tucked down against his chest, the energy hit him in the face and he scrambled upright on the couch, limbs flailing as the comfortable spot he’d managed to coax out with careful squirming tried to keep him there. “Angel, hey, what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale’s hands fluttered before clasping together in front of his belly, and his voice did something similar. “I -- it’s silly, really, I’m sorry, but -- I’ve been a bit -- disappointed. Would you mind if --?”

“Not in the slightest, angel, come on.” Crowley gestured with one arm held wide, while the other patted the cushion next to himself, and Aziraphale gratefully sank down beside him, tucking up close with palpable relief.

Crowley shifted around a bit, finding an angle that would make them both comfortable, and in less than a minute had Aziraphale halfway in his lap, curled into him with his downy curls tucked under Crowley’s chin. He settled in with a sigh, relaxing into the soft heat of Aziraphale’s plush form and feeling somewhat comforted himself.

For a while it was just like that, propped half-reclining on the couch with their legs tangled together and the feeling of Aziraphale’s soft breaths against his breastbone. Eventually he brought his hand up from where it rested between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades to idly twirl at strands of his hair.

Aziraphale slowly relaxed, and the cloud of distress that had followed him into the room eased gradually into something a bit more manageable.

It might have been about an hour in when Crowley asked, “What is it that had you so upset, love?”

Aziraphale hummed a hum of acknowledgement, and barely stirred against Crowley’s neck, which Crowley took to be a good sign. “It’s a series I’ve been following. It started off so well, and most of the installments have gone on in a terribly charming manner, and I’m afraid I might have grown a bit… attached, to the characters and the stories and -- and all that.”

“Mm,” said Crowley, working out one stray knot that may or may not have been caused by his interference. “Good reading?”

“Yes. Well, it was. But it -- it’s these last few additions that have been going all wrong. They’ve started relying on all sorts of mean-spirited devices to go along, when the whole thing had been so wonderfully free of that nonsense before. It’s -- I tried to think it was a fluke -- unintentional, or one sour grape -- but it’s only gone on and… and I think I’m losing patience.”

Crowley hummed but didn’t try to add anything. Aziraphale was quiet for a little while.

“You must think me terribly silly,” he said eventually, half-mumbled against Crowley’s collarbone.

Crowley ran his fingers in long passes through Aziraphale’s hair.

“Sometimes. Not right now.”

It was hard losing faith in something you loved.

Aziraphale stayed quiet, but the arm draped loosely across Crowley’s waist tightened, and they both settled into the silence with a kind of quiet comfort. Crowley tipped his head back and started tracing constellations in the grain of the wooden ceiling.

Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, Aziraphale would be nose-deep in his book again, and he’d respond to a gentle query with a remark about seeing things through for curiosity’s sake, and still having the best bits, and he’d catch Crowley’s hand to drop a kiss on it when Crowley bent over his chair to place a mug of cocoa on the table, and half an hour after that he’d clear his throat pointedly in the middle of Crowley’s Jewel Crush game and Crowley would pause it right in the middle and put a hand in the small of his back and coax him up to bed.


End file.
